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Sixty Sucks

Another perk of aging: digestive problems. The other day, after bellyaching to a nutritionist at the local health food store, she suggested that I try taking charcoal capsules to tame my wind.

They work – honest! You can stop blaming your cat or dog now when you have guests over.

But here’s an interesting factoid she relayed to me: Elizabethans would stitch charcoal (crushed, not briquettes) into the crotch of their leggings. Guess these people weren’t so unenlightened after all.

Someone should invent mini-pads imbedded with charcoal bits. If you decide to go for a patent, remember whose idea it was first.

I mean, this could save marriage. For instance, a close friend of mine’s husband used to kick her – literally – out of the bed when her air became too flavorful. They are divorced now.

Come to think of it, I’ve had IBS (look that up in yer Funk n’ Wagnall’s) since birth and became a legendary burpist in the 5th grade. The boys always challenged me to a “burp-off” and I always won.

I could spell out the alphabet while exhaling guttural gas.

First, we’d eat green apples and then chug a cola as fast as humanly possible. After the bubbles made their way up our esophagi we’d unleash the most bodacious burps. They bordered on inter-galactic.

Well, this is getting a bit long-winded and I’m getting hungry for an apple – sans cola. In fact, I am having a love affair with my newly discovered Honeycrisp ® apples. They are so delicious that the grocer tells me there aren’t enough trees to keep fans in a year-long supply.

So get some while you can, and save the bubbly for later . . .

 

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